Bleeding Out Loud
by Sue Pokorny
Summary: When faced with an Aztec artifact, The Winchester's must deal with an ancient curse -- and one more recent. Set sometime early Season 4.
1. Chapter 1

Just a little case fic that takes place sometime early season 4, definitely after Are You There God… but before Wishful Thinking. You know, back in the good ol' days before the boys were really and truly screwed. g

**Bleeding Out Loud**

**Chapter One**

Ray Anderson scratched his name of the delivery ticket and flipped the manifest closed, handing it back to the deliveryman with a smile. It was the last delivery of the day, slated to go to the Aztec display in the ancient civilizations section of the museum. The new display was pretty much set up, this final artifact to be placed in a position of honor, dictated by the prestige of being on loan from the Smithsonian itself.

"There ya go, Tony. Everything signed, sealed and delivered.

He looked up into the larger man's eyes, frowning at the blank expression emanating from the normally friendly brown orbs. Tony was a large man always ready with a quick smile and even quicker one liner. Out of all the regular delivery guys, Tony had always been one of his favorites, always willing to lend a hand hauling the heavier crates wherever they needed to go inside the museum. This delivery was a small crate, easily handled by Ray himself, so he'd expected Tony to tell him a good joke, give him a patented smile and be on his way before the crush of D.C traffic made it impossible for him to make it back through midtown.

"Tony? You okay?" He stepped forward, placing a hand on the man's shoulder and squeezing in concern. "You don't look so good."

Ray's eyes widened as he felt the stab of pain in is gut, stepping back in shock, his hands dropping to the hilt of the knife protruding from his stomach. He slowly raised is head, watching in shock as Tony pulled the knife from his body and raised it above is head, blood dripping from the gleaming razor sharp edge.

"Tony" Ray's voice was hardly more than whisper as he watched the blade drop toward his chest, the look of emptiness in his friends eyes the last sight his own would see.

Snsnsnsnsnsnsns

"Huitzilpochtli was the ancient Aztec God of War. Legend says he accepted as many as 20,000 human sacrifices per year…"

Dean let the tour guide's voice drone on without really registering the words the young woman was saying. He noticed a young boy in the group who was watching him, looking as bored as he felt. Knowing he had the kid's attention, he moved his hand up behind him and tilted his head, pantomiming a hangman's noose. The silent performance earned a snicker from the child and an elbow in his side from Sam, who glared at him as the group moved forward, out of the Aztec display. He noticed the boy's mother grab the child's hand, throwing Dean a chastising scowl as she dragged the reluctant boy away.

The boy managed to sneak a look back over his shoulder as they rounded the corner, smiling broadly as he caught Dean's wink.

"Poor kid," Dean remarked. "Getting dragged around a dusty old place like this would completely suck."

"It's educational, Dean," Sam's voice held more than a hint of frustration.

"It's boring, Sam."

Sam opened his mouth to respond, but thought better of it and simply shook his head, choosing to ignore his brother's juvenile behavior. The taller man stepped to the far end of the room, stopping in front of the corded barrier that separated the main floor from the display.

Dean joined his brother, his eyes roaming across the simulated, scaled down model of an ancient Aztec pyramid. The model was surprisingly realistic from the gold hue of the stones to the fake blood staining the cracked and worn steps. The pyramid was topped with an alter that held a single skull, carved with multiple patterns complete with ornate snakes and other weird looking faces and animals. He felt a shudder roll up his spine as his eyes locked on the creepy looking skull.

"Looks like 'The Ruins'."

Sam glanced at his brother out of the corner of his eye. "Uh, yeah, Dean. It's a miniature version of a real Aztec temple." He spoke slowly, as if talking to a small child.

"I know that, Professor Obvious." Dean retorted. "I meant it's like 'The Ruins'… the movie."

Sam turned and looked at him in confusion.

"The horror flick? A bunch of kids go into the jungle, get knocked off one by one? Ring any bells?"

"A horror flick?"

Dean turned back to the display, nodding. "Not a bad set-up, and it had some pretty cool effects. I especially like the moving vines that wrapped around the dead people and pulled them into the jungle. Not as good as the old school slasher flicks of the '80's, but it wasn't half bad."

Sam just stared at him, his mouth opening and closing like a fish.

Dean carefully schooled his face, keeping his eyes on the display. "You really should get out more, Sammy." Before his brother could comment, Dean moved his eyes back to the skull at the top, frowning as if he'd been concentrating on the thing the entire time. "So, cursed, huh?"

Sam took a deep breath and nodded, deciding it was better to simply move on than try to figure out how his brother's mind worked. His eyes also locked on the relic perched at the top of the pyramid. "That's what the evidence says."

Their research into a string of mutilations had led them to the link with the skull. The killings would last for a short time in various cities, bodies discovered torn apart at knife-point, the hearts cut out and taken. Their first thought had been werewolf, but the locations and lunar cycles precluded that theory. As they tracked the progression of homicides, Sam stumbled across a parallel pattern of an ancient Aztec exhibit that had been showing up in the same cities. When they'd looked closer, they discovered the exhibit had arrived in every city on or around the same day the dead bodies had begun piling up. As soon as the exhibit moved on to its next destination, the deaths stopped, only to start up again in the new location.

Checking into the exhibit, they'd found it contained an artifact that according to rumor, was cursed. The skull that sat before them was ancient. A quick call to Bobby had informed them that the Skull of Huitzilpochtli had been thought to be destroyed over a hundred years ago. Unfortunately, word of its demise had been premature. From what they could surmise, the skull had been found packed away in the basement of the Smithsonian a little over a year ago. Since then, it had been traveling from museum to museum, it's curse apparently still in tact and spreading it's own brand of evil over the unsuspecting patrons of the arts.

"Sure it's not a werewolf?"

Sam shook his head, having gone over this many times already. "Nope. Not unless it's decided to blend in with society and hang out at museums."

"Crazed, blood thirsty, Indiana Jones wannabe?" Dean asked hopefully.

Sam tilted his head, conceding the possibility on principal. "Indy doesn't steal hearts."

"We've seen stranger things," Dan offered. When there was no response, he took a deep breath and let it out in a long, slow sigh. "Okay, then, Alex. I'll take Ancient Aztec curses for five hundred." He turned slightly toward his brother. "Now what?"

Sam mimicked his brother's sigh. "According to Bobby, we have two options." He held up a hand, index finger extended. "One, we can steal the skull and put it in a curse box, store it away in Dad's storage shed along with the others, or," he held up a second finger, "two, we can steal the skull and salt and burn it, therefore destroying it completely."

"Either way we have to break into a locked, alarmed, guarded museum and steal the damn skull."

"Yahtzee." Sam responded, grinning at the chance to steal his brother's line.

Dean ignored him. "Awesome."

Snsnsnsnsnsnsn

Sam soon discovered that not only did his brother consider museums dry and boring, he also found any and all research concerning said museum just as dry and boring. After a few hours of trying to get the layout and schematics of the building despite his brother's constant interruptions and complaints, Sam was becoming increasingly annoyed.

Normally, Dean would dive right into the planning of a break-in, the thrill of the execution something he could really sink his teeth into. But ever since his return from… ever since he'd returned, the older man had obviously found it harder to concentrate on the simple things like breaking and entering. If course, Sam could hardly blame him. When you'd been dragged out of Hell by and angel of the Lord, it was probably a little more difficult to focus on the more austere trappings of a hunt.

It's not like he expected Dean to go postal or anything – even though he had a better excuse than pretty much anyone… ever. To be fair, Sam knew what had happened was weighing heavily on his brother, and although Dean insisted he didn't remember what had happened to him in Hell, Sam was convinced he was holding back. What or how much, the younger hunter couldn't be sure, but whatever it was, Sam knew his brother would divulge what he did remember in his own sweet time. Pushing would only cause him to clam up even more about the last four months and Sam knew he would have to let some of the pain out sometime, if only to make room for more. Besides, Sam was keeping his own secrets, not entirely sure how to tell his brother about his time alone.

He was more than a little afraid of what Dean would think if he told him the truth about Ruby. Hell, Sam wasn't even sure what to think. He'd allowed himself to consider her… maybe not a friend, but an ally.

A Winchester in bed with a demon! Wouldn't Dad be proud.

He cringed at how literal that statement was, the thought of what he'd done still making his skin crawl. At the time he'd been too far gone to rationalize his actions. He was at rock bottom. In pain… alone. He needed something, anything to make him feel alive, and so he had let down his guard and she had given him what he needed. He'd chastised himself countless times since for his weakness, but it had given him something. He'd turned a corner that night. He'd finally realized that what he'd become wasn't good enough. Dean had died so that he could live, and that night with Ruby awakened something and showed him that he needed to keep fighting in order to honor his brother's sacrifice.

But did he truly trust her? No. He wasn't that far gone. He owed her. She'd helped him, but he knew his brother wouldn't see it that way. He knew Dean would look at him with disdain, unable to comprehend how he could've sunk so low.

At least the old Dean would have. This new Dean, so close to the brother he remembered, was still, in many ways, a complete mystery to him… a blank page in a well read book that could possibly change the entire story into one he had little hope of understanding. At times he'd look at his brother and instead of seeing the man who'd raised him, who'd been there for him his whole life, he'd see a stranger. Someone who was unpredictable, someone who wasn't… _Dean._

It kind of scared him, if he was being honest.

It had been hard for Dean to accept that he'd truly been saved by an angel and that the man upstairs had 'plans' for him. It wasn't that he didn't want to believe, it was simply that he'd never had a chance to believe in anything except his family. The evil that had permeated their lives had stolen whatever innocence Dean may have had and left a dark legacy to which no Winchester was immune. Dean had done what was needed to survive his whole life. Sam was sure that had been no different in Hell. Whatever God's plans were for Dean, Sam hoped his brother would take the chance of believing that something good could actually come of this. He hoped that Dean could find a way to believe that something good could happen for him.

Although right now, Sam was pretty sure something bad was going to happen to his brother soon if he didn't stop annoying him.

"Dean."

The clicking of the pen continued unabated in time with the low hum that was emanating from the older hunter's throat.

"Dean!"

"What?"

Sam sighed as the background noise that had been surrounding him suddenly ceased.

"Could you possibly be quiet for a few minutes?"

Dean threw his brother a look of confusion. "I am being quiet."

"No, you're not," Sam started, then with a quick shake of his head, changed tactics. "Look, it's almost dark. Why don't you run out and get us something to eat. By the time you get back I should have the layout of the museum drawn up and we can figure out the best route in and out."

Dean shrugged and tossed the pen and pad of paper he'd been doodling on down onto the bed, hopping off the mattress and grabbing his jacket in one motion. "I could eat," he agreed enthusiastically. "Burger?"

"Yeah. And onion rings. I think I saw a Burger King down the road."

"Have it your way, Sammy," Dean quipped as he snatched the keys from the table and opened the door. "Back in a few."

Sam sighed in relief as he listened to the sound of the Impala's engine rev and then fade and the big black Chevy pulled out of the parking lot. He stared at the computer for a few minutes, relishing the silence until his eyes wandered back to the bed his brother had been perched on only a few minutes ago. The sight of the rumpled, empty bed made his breath catch as his mind swarmed with the hundreds of times his eyes had found that exact site in those four months replaying in vivid Technicolor.

Swallowing hard, he shook himself from the unwelcome memories, suddenly not so content with the heavy silence that had settled over the room. With a shaking breath he realized that the peace and quiet he'd achieved was entirely over-rated.

snsnsnsnsnsnsnsns

Sam looked up from the laptop as the jiggling sound of the door lock made him sigh in relief. Anger quickly replaced that emotion as he watched his brother stagger through the door, his green eyes searching until they found Sam.

"Since when does a food run take two hours, Dean…." Sam paused at the look of utter shock on his brother's face as the older man looked him up and down silently. Sam had seen that look before – when Dean was afraid that something had hurt him or he was in some sort of danger. The look registered with Sam, even though he knew there was nothing to warrant such a reaction. He frowned, suddenly noting the way Dean was swaying and the glassy look in his wide eyes. "Dean?" He rose from the chair and took a step forward, watching his brother relax somewhat as the older man seemed to conclude that everything inside the small motel room was as it should be. "Dean?" Sam repeated, inching closer, "You okay?"

Sam's eyes were drawn to a reflection in his brother's hand and his breath hitched at the sight of a ornate, very sharp looking dagger in Dean's limp grasp. The blade was dark with blood and Sam swallowed hard. He held up a hand and spoke softly yet firmly. "Dean, give me the knife."

Dean had been pretty quiet after the whole ordeal with Jack Montgomery, and Sam had chalked that up more to the raw tension that still flowed between them than the head wound the older hunter had received at the hand of the rugaru. Although Dean hadn't complained, Sam knew he'd been suffering from headaches off and on since leaving Montgomery's. Maybe he should've paid closer attention… maybe what had happened had knocked loose something, some memory from Hell that his brother hadn't been able to handle. Maybe…

Dean's eyes dropped to his hand as he slowly raised the dagger, his face scrunching into a look the Sam could only identify as confusion. The movement caused the older man's jacket to gape open and Sam's eyes widened at what he saw.

Blood.

A lot of it.

The lower left side of Dean's t-shirt, as well as some of the checkered overshirt and faded jeans were stained, the viscous liquid shining under the dim lights on the motel room. Sam allowed himself a small sigh, relieved to know his fears had been for naught and that his brother hadn't hurt anyone. This wasn't some stranger that had finally snapped due to the inhuman stress he'd been subjected to. This was Dean. His brother. The man who'd died to save him. How he could've ever thought anything different….

Sam took another step forward, stopping short as the knife dropped to the floor and Dean raised his head slowly, brow furrowing further as his glassy eyes caught his brother's.

"Sammy…"

Sam dashed forward as Dean's eyes rolled back into his head and his body began to collapse toward the floor.

"Dean!"

He caught the shorter man before he hit the ground, deftly turning and swinging him onto the nearby bed. He swore softly as he pulled the soaked T-shirt up, revealing the puncture wound lying beneath.

"What the hell…" he muttered, his hand hovering over the bleeding gash. He stared for a moment, trying to understand how a simple food run could've resulted in this. Shaking himself from his shock, he dashed to the bathroom, collecting every available towel, turning on the tap and tossing one into the sink under the stream of warm water. Quickly returning to the main room, he pressed a second towel firmly against the seeping wound, wincing in sympathy as the action caused his semi-conscious brother to moan in protest.

"Dean?" he called, leaning forward to get a better look at his sibling's face. "Dean? You with me?"

The older man slowly moved his head from side to side, his face contorted into a grimace of pain. "Sammy?"

Sam sighed in relief at the soft whisper, content for the moment to know his brother was still lucid. "Man, what the hell? That creepy Burger King catch you stealing ketchup packets again?"

Dean chuckled, wincing as Sam pressed down harder on his stomach. "Ain't… messin' with that fugly dude – AH!!"

"Sorry," Sam quickly apologized, easing off the pressure slightly. He pulled back the towel, inspecting the gaping wound with thin set lips. "Doesn't look too deep. What the hell happened?"

"Stabbed."

"Yeah, got that. Who the hell stabbed you?"

Dean shook his head again, lazily letting it roll against the mattress. "Chick."

Sam's eyes widened in surprise. "You let a girl take you down?" He placed the towel back across his brother's stomach, lifting Dean's left hand and placing it on top. "Hold that," he ordered as he crossed back to the small bathroom and retrieved the towel in the sink. Dripping a trail of water, he returned to the bed, and removed the blood soaked towel, replacing it with the soaked one. He deftly used the edges to clear the dried blood from Dean's skin, carefully pressing down around the wound to clean it.

Sam took a shaking breath as he lifted the towel and carefully inspected the still seeping injury. He shook his head. "Dean, I think you need a hospital."

Dean frowned, obviously considering the option. "Nah, you can handle it. Sammy."

Sam shook his head more adamantly. "There could be internal bleeding, Dean. It could've nicked an organ or something. I can't –" He looked down as he felt Dean's cold hand encircle his wrist.

"You can Sam." Dean's eyes were pain filled, but clear and Sam found himself nodding slowly. "Didn't go too deep. Just stitch me up, bro. I'll be fine."

Sam took a deep breath then steeled himself for what he was about to do. He crossed back to the bathroom, finding another towel over the edge of the tub and brought it back to the room, snagging the first aid kit from the duffle as he passed. Placing both items on a nearby chair, Sam placed his hands on his hips and surveyed the man on the bed.

"If we're gonna do this, I'm gonna have to move you, Dean."

He shrugged when he received a glare in response.

Dean sighed and closed his eyes, swallowing hard at the thought. "And I was so comfy right here."

Sam grinned and held out a hand. "Come on. Let's get this done."

It took a lot of coaxing on Sam's part and a lot of painful grunting on Dean's, but they were finally able to get the injured man out of his bloody coat and shirts and positioned on the edge of the bed. Sam worked as quickly and carefully as possible, keeping the sutures small and neat as he skillfully closed the wound, grateful that Dean had succumbed to unconsciousness soon after the first stitch.

He cleaned the remaining blood, spread a layer of antibiotic ointment over the puckered gash and carefully bandaged it. Tossing the towels and Dean's shirts into the tub to soak, he quickly cleaned the rest of the mess.

The glint of metal from the floor caught his attention and he bent to examine the dagger that had been dropped and forgotten during triage. The thing looked old – not Grandma's china cabinet old, but ancient civilization museum old. The blade itself was a copper color, probably stained dark from centuries of exposure to who knows what. The hilt was bone, Sam surmised, with gold bands wrapped in a twisting pattern up and down each side. It looked Egyptian, Sam guessed, but he couldn't be sure.

He grabbed the open laptop from the table and dropped down onto the opposite bed, suddenly too exhausted to move. His eyes moved toward his brother's face, relieved to see that the lines of pain had disappeared as he succumbed to sleep. As long as they could avoid infection, Sam was pretty sure Dean would be okay. The wound had been shallow, and Sam knew it would hurt like a bitch, but wasn't life threatening. There was no sign the blade had damaged anything internal, so maybe they'd managed to dodge a bullet this time.

He placed a few Tylenol and a bottle of water on the nightstand for when Dean woke and leaned back against the backboard. Taking a last look at his brother, he settled in and focused his attention on the computer screen, resolved to the long, sleepless night ahead.

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

The throbbing pain in his neck woke him and Sam raised his head with a moan, rubbing ineffectively at the knotted muscles. Opening his eyes, he noticed he was still sitting, propped against the headboard, the now dark laptop toppled halfway off his legs. As his fuzzy mind caught up with his aching body, he suddenly remembered the reason for his uncomfortable position and snapped his eyes toward the other bed.

Dean had managed to roll onto his side sometime during the night, his face half buried in the pillow. One arm was tucked under the pillow, the other fisted below his chin, making the normally dangerous hunter look all of five years old. Sam let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding and smiled fondly, reaching a hand out to check his brother for any sign of fever. Dean's skin was warm, but not hot, and Sam dropped his head in relief. Maybe their luck was turning.

Of course, there was still the question of who had stabbed his brother and why, but that was something they could tackle after Dean had gained some strength back and Sam wasn't worried he was going to… well… when Sam was sure he was going to be okay.

Sam pushed himself off the bed and padded to the table, laying the laptop down and plugging it into the power cord. At least he hadn't slept long enough for the computer to go dead and he rubbed his face in relief as the screen lit and the research on the museum he had been doing when he nodded off popped back up. He'd been able to track the dagger to one of the exhibits at the museum, not surprised to find the weapon had come from the place they'd been investigating. Obviously someone had made them – which would make getting inside and retrieving the skull even harder than they'd anticipated.

Of course Sam had never heard of a cursed object being able to affect someone outside of its actual presence, but, he supposed, there was a first time for everything. If someone had come into contact with the skull, it was possible the curse would work to protect itself. If they'd been marked as a threat… it was possible the victim had been influenced enough to make a move outside of the museum. Sam wasn't going to discount the theory just because they'd never heard of it happening before. If there was anything he'd learned in this job, it was take nothing for granted.

Taking another glance at Dean's peaceful form, he decided to start the coffee maker and grab a quick shower before he chanced waking his brother to check on his condition.

The shower revived him and managed to ease the tension that had built up in his neck and shoulders. By the time he was done, he could smell the enticing aroma of coffee through the small room and quickly dried himself and dressed, making a beeline to the small kitchen alcove to pour himself a cup.

A muffled moan caught his attention and he turned to watch in amusement as Dean turned his head further into the pillow, reminding Sam of the younger boy he had spent his lifetime watching. After a few moments, Sam saw the one visible eye open, blearily staring ahead for a few seconds before searching and finally coming to rest on Sam.

"Morning," the younger man said. He poured another cup and carefully set it on the stand between the beds. "How're you feeling?"

"Like I was stabbed," came the expected grumble.

"Yeah, mind filling in the blanks there, Slash?"

Dean gave his brother a glare and forced himself over to his back. "I was stabbed, Sam. Not much else to say."

"Stabbed by who?"

Dean sighed, his left hand rubbing lightly over the comforter directly above his wound. "I don't know. Never saw her before."

"Her?"

"Yes, Sam," Dean said in a huff. "Her. She was in the parking lot when I came out with the burgers and, I don't know, she just stuck me." He shrugged. "I don't remember a whole lot after that."

Sam sipped at his cup thoughtfully. "You sure you never saw her before?"

Dean shook his head, wincing as he tried to shift into a more comfortable position "I'm sure. I never forget a face."

Sam watched him for a moment, noticing when his expression went from annoyed to confused. "What?"

Dean shook himself out of his thoughts and gave Sam a quick look of frustration. "I don't know. It's… she said something…"

"Dean? What did she say?"

The older man rubbed at his eyes and shook his head slowly. "I don't…" he stopped suddenly, his hand dropping and his eyes meeting Sam's. "She said something about you."

Sam's brows rose to disappear under his long bangs. "Me? You sure?"

Dean pursed his lips as he concentrated on his fuzzy memories, finally sighing and letting his head sink deeper into the pillow. "No. It was after she stabbed me, so I wasn't really in the mood to listen. I just remember her saying something about 'my brother' and then she disappeared. I dragged myself into the Impala and somehow managed not to wrap her around a lightpost on my way back here."

Sam was nodding thoughtfully. "That explains why you charged in here like the place was on fire last night."

"I did?"

Sam snorted a laugh. "Yeah, I thought you were being chased by a pack of hellhounds the way you barreled in here."

Dean swallowed hard and turned away as Sam mentally kicked himself for the words. "Hey, Dean, man…"

"S'okay, Sammy." Dean took a deep breath, his game face quickly sliding into place. He lifted the blanket and glanced down at the bandaged wound on his abdomen. "How bad?"

"Not too bad. I don't think it hit anything vital. You don't seem to have a fever, so…" He pushed himself up and moved back to the small table, retrieving the laptop. "I was waiting until you woke up, but if you want to go over what I found on the museum, I'll run out and get us something for breakfast."

Dean was about to protest, but a loud rumble from his stomach changed his mind. "Be careful, Sammy. Whoever this chick is, she could be after you, too."

Sam nodded, sliding into his jacket and moving to the door. "I doubt she's gonna try anything in broad daylight, Dean. But I'll keep my eyes open. You gonna be okay?"

"Yeah," he said quickly, already scanning the information on the museum. "Just hurry back, dude."

Snsnsnsnsnsn

Sam was only gone for twenty minutes, but to Dean it seemed more like an hour. Bits and pieces of last night's events seeped through his mind, connecting together to give him a partial image of what had transpired.

He remembered going to the fast food joint and noticing the backup at the drive-thru. Knowing patience wasn't exactly one of his many virtues, he'd opted to park the Impala and run inside, placing his order, paying and returning to the car well before the Escort he would've been behind even managed to work it's way to the window.

Chuckling over the poor bastards who were still waiting, he didn't notice the young woman's approach until she was right next to him and the open driver's door of the Impala.

His image of her face was hazy, but he knew she'd been dark skinned and pretty. He'd greeted her with what he'd thought was a friendly smile, but her eyes had stared at him blankly, no sign of affability on her face. Tossing the food bag onto the front seat, he'd turned to inquire if she needed help, only to be met by a sharp pain in his stomach. Honed reflexes took over and he'd automatically blocked her arm, swearing as the blade slid out of her grasp and clanked onto the asphalt parking lot.

That was when things got a little fuzzy. He remembered somehow ending up on his knees and looking back up at the dark skinned woman, his mouth and eyes wide in shock. She'd stepped back, wiping her bloodied hand on her shirt, and spoken, her face never changing from the blank, almost impassive expression.

"… for my brother."

Dean swallowed hard, his mind finding it increasingly difficult to formulate a clear thought, let alone understand whatever the hell the woman was trying to tell him. He remembered grabbing the blade from the ground and using an arm to drag himself from his knees, falling back onto the driver's seat of the Impala. He looked up, watching as the woman raised a bloodied hand to her face, stopping in something akin to shock as she noticed the dark fluid staining her skin. Her eyes widened as they slowly focused on him and she opened her mouth as if to speak, taking a few steps backwards before turning and fleeing into the darkness.

He didn't really remember the drive back to the motel, but he'd obviously made it, his mind focused on the idea that somehow, Sam was the one in danger. Stumbling into the motel room, he'd found his brother whole and unharmed, and the sheer relief had toppled him.

After that, he knew Sam had patched him up, but he must have thankfully passed out fairly quickly since he only vaguely remembered the pain. He breathed out a long breath when he heard the Impala's engine return, relieved that Sam had made it without incident. By the time his brother stepped back into the room, Dean was concentrating on the screen, a familiar face staring back at him from the museum's website.

"Hey," Sam greeted as he dropped the cardboard carrier on the table and shrugged out of his jacket. "I got you one of those breakfast croissant things. Figured it would sit a little better than heavy pancakes." When there was no immediate response, Sam turned from the food bag and straightened, his eyes assessing his brother.

Dean was propped up slightly against the headboard, two pillows tucked in behind his shoulders. His left leg was bent at the knee, tenting the blanket while his right hand balanced the laptop half on and half off his stomach. His eyes were glued to the screen, his left hand absently rubbing up and down against the blanket directly over the wound, in an obvious attempt to relieve the discomfort.

"Dean?"

Sam stepped closer to the bed, the look of anger on Dean's face making the younger man frown.

"Hey, man. You okay?"

Dean glanced up as if just realizing his brother was in the room, quickly returning his eyes to the screen.

"It's her."

Sam dropped his head in an attempt to catch his brother's eyes. "Her who? The woman from last night?"

Dean nodded and turned the laptop around.

Sam perched on the edge of the bed carefully and took the computer from Dean's hand. "Valerie Cross," he read, his eyes going to the photo of the lovely dark-skinned woman on the page. "Says here she's an assistant curator at the museum." Sam turned his head toward his brother. "You sure she's the same woman, Dean? It was dark and –"

"I'm sure, Sam." Dean's voice was clipped and left no room for discussion. "That's her."

"Okay." He nodded toward the dagger lying on the table. "I checked the knife you had last night. I'm pretty sure it's the one that stabbed you."

Dean nodded. "She dropped it," he confirmed. "I guess I picked it up before I got back in the car."

"It was a part of one of the exhibits at the museum." Sam continued. "It's listed on-line as part of an Egyptian collection that is being packed up for storage."

"So she grabs a blade from the basement and comes after me in the parking lot."

Sam shrugged. "But why? Have you ever seen her before?"

Dean shook his head and closed his eyes, allowing his head to drop back against the pillow, his neck craned at what looked like an uncomfortable angle. "I don't even remember seeing her at the museum, but that doesn't mean she didn't see us."

"Okay, possible. But how would she know who you were? All the other victims were attacked in the vicinity of the skull. Why would she track you to a fast food joint miles from where it was?"

Dean sighed and rubbed a hand over his eyes. "I don't know, Sam. Maybe she saw us at the museum and just couldn't get me out of her head."

"Right. Because you're Mr. Irresistible." Sam scoffed.

"Whatever. I don't know, Sam." Dean's face scrunched up in pain as he forced himself up higher on the bed. "I don't know what made her go off the reservation, but let's just chalk it up to this damn skull's kinky mojo and get it done."

Sam sighed, not liking the pallor of Dean's face, but knowing his brother was right. "You up for this?"

Dean nodded. "This is personal now, Sammy. Whatever this thing is, we're gonna end it. Tonight."

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

The museum parking lot was lit by tall streetlamps that shown pools of yellow light down onto the dark tarmac. The museum itself was nestled farther back in the copse of trees and landscaping that made the attraction look like it was built inside a natural preserve instead of the middle of a bustling city. The surrounding trees muted the sounds of civilization, but the hum of cars and trucks from the interstate nearly a mile away still carried in the dark silence reminding Dean of the drone of insects on a hot summer night in the country.

"You okay?"

It was probably the tenth time Sam had inquired since they'd arrived and parked the Impala in the dark recess of the lot, just to the side of the large stone building. Normally, they wouldn't take the risk of leaving the car so close to the place they were breaking into, but Sam had been insistent, stating with infallible logic that Dean was in no condition to go traipsing around in the dark and that parking close by would benefit not only him, but their escape if something went wrong and they were detected.

Deciding not to mention that it would also aid any security guards that might notice an unfamiliar car in the lot into realizing that perhaps something was amiss, Dean had kept his mouth shut, giving into the fact that his brother was correct about his ability to maneuver at full capacity. Of course, he would never give the younger man the satisfaction of admitting he was right. He prided himself on knowing when to pick his battles.

They waited well past closing, watching quietly as the parking lot emptied of vehicles, until all that remained were those that, they assumed, belonged to the night guards and late working employees. The information they had been able to dig up on the building itself had given them the layout of the exhibits and the location of the security room. Breaking into the room in order to disable the alarm was the first stop on their agenda – and the main reason Sam hadn't argued about Dean's involvement in the hunt. While Sam was capable of dealing with the alarm himself, it was Dean who had, over the years, become somewhat of an expert with electronics, his natural mechanical ability allowing him to find and disarm most security systems in seconds. Dad always teased that if hunting ever got boring, he'd probably be able to make a pretty decent living as a thief if he was so inclined.

As soon as the building looked locked down for the night, they quietly exited the vehicle, taking extra care to keep the squeaky doors from sounding loudly in the quiet lot. Skirting around the building to the back, they quickly found the service entrance near the loading dock, Dean standing watch as Sam quickly and efficiently picked the lock. Moments later, they ducked inside, leaving no sign of their passing.

Sam tucked the handles of the duffle over his arm and took the lead. Following the map in his head, he led Dean down the hallway, confidently turning from corridor to corridor on the way to the far stairwell. The security room was in the basement, one wing behind the first floor entrance. He kept an eye on his brother, knowing that Dean would alert him of any approaching danger, as well as making sure the older hunter wasn't falling behind due to his recent injury.

Dean had insisted he was good, but Sam knew his brother and took his self-assessment with a grain of salt. Nobody just bounced back from being stabbed – not even Dean. But, his brother had been through worse, and had reminded Sam that people were dying. They needed to get the skull and stop the curse before someone else got hurt. He'd managed to convince Dean to stay in bed, resting until they'd needed to move out. He'd even gotten him to agree to take a few Tylenol to dull the pain he was obviously feeling.

Sam had dealt with a few injuries in the last few years and could only sympathize with the tenderness resulting from an abdominal injury. You never really noticed how often you used those muscles until you couldn't and Sam didn't envy his brother his position right now. Dean was moving well, albeit a bit stiffly, and so far he seemed to be okay. Sam just hoped he stayed that way long enough for them to complete their mission and move on.

As they rounded a corner, Sam stopped short as he nearly collided with a familiar looking young black woman. His first thought was that she was much prettier than her picture on the website, his second was the fact that this woman had tried to kill his brother. He felt Dean crash into him, silently cringing at the grunt of pain that escaped the older man.

"Sam," came Dean's tight whisper, "What the …" His reprimand died suddenly as he caught sight of the woman standing directly in front of Sam. They stared at her, her startled eyes staring back, looking from Sam to Dean in surprise. She took a slow step back, her hand clutching the coat she held over her arm tightly to her.

"The museum is closed. You'll have to leave." Her face was tight, her wide eyes almost glowing in her dark face, reflecting the brightness of the overhead lights. Her expression turned to one of alarm as she looked at Dean and Sam took a step forward and to his left not sure if it was an effort to block her view of his brother or stop Dean's advance toward her. He schooled his face, not wanting the woman to know that he'd recognized her. A quick glance back showed him that his brother had also recognized the woman as the one who'd stabbed him, and the grim set to his mouth along with the flat out anger in his eyes gave Sam the distinct impression that he wasn't about to play the supplication game this time.

The distant sound of a door banging shut echoed down the hallway, quickly followed by the heavy fall of footsteps on the marble floor.

The woman's eyes shifted to a spot behind them for a moment, hope and relief quickly replacing the fear that had begun to show through.

"Guard," Dean whispered quietly, his voice rough and hurried.

Sam nodded and in one smooth movement, stepped behind the woman, clamped a large hand over her mouth and folded his other arm around her body, effectively pinning her to his chest. She struggled for a moment, but was helpless to move against the larger man who had completely immobilized her in a heartbeat.

Dean dove forward, quickly opening the office door to their left, stepping across the threshold and holding it open as Sam dragged the un-protesting woman through behind him. He silently closed the door, pressing the lock as he backed against the wall on the opposite side of the door from his brother and their captive. They held their breaths as the footsteps echoed down the hall, passing the closed door and continuing in the other direction, finally disappearing as the guard rounded the corner at the far end.

After a few more seconds, Sam released his grip on the woman and she quickly stepped away, turning to face the intruders.

"What do you want?"

Sam dropped the duffle at his feet and glanced at his brother, who was breathing hard, slightly hunched over, his hand pulled tightly against his stomach. Dean was regarding the woman with a look of hostility prompting the younger hunter to take point. "I'm sorry. We didn't mean to scare you. Miss Cross, right? Valerie Cross?"

She looked a bit surprised that they knew her name. "That's right." She stepped back and moved behind a chair, using the small piece of furniture as a shield between her and the two men. "What are you doing here? What do you want?"

"Look," Sam held up a hand in supplication. "We're not going to hurt you. This isn't what you think. We're –"

"I know exactly who you are." The venom in her voice surprised both brothers and they exchanged a look of alarm before turning their attention back to Valerie. She raised her head in a show of defiance, her nostrils flaring as she regarded Sam then Dean, her dark eyes narrowing as she glared at the older man. "You're Dean and Sam Winchester. You're federal fugitives wanted by the FBI."

Sam's eyebrows shot up, disappearing beneath his shaggy bangs. He opened his mouth to respond, but closed it quickly, turning slightly to look at his brother. Dean's brows were lowered in a frown as he stared back at the slender woman. "You're pretty well informed for someone who spends her days playing with dusty old toys." He pushed himself off the wall, his hand dropping from his stomach, a slight wince betraying the pain the movement brought. "Who the hell are you, lady? And why the hell did you try to kill me?"

Valerie's eyes moved from his face to his torso, her eyes widening as she noted the small patch of blood staining his shirt. "Oh my God," she whispered, her hands tightening against the back of the chair. "That was real? I thought…" She leaned forward, her eyes losing focus for a moment. "I thought that it was just a nightmare. I thought…"

"Well it was real, sweetheart." Dean growled. "It was very real."

Sam placed a hand on his brother's shoulder, stopping the older man from advancing on the obviously confused woman.

"How do you know who were are?"

Valerie's head snapped up, the lost look of confusion in her eyes replaced with a sudden intensity. "You killed my brother," she said in a clipped tone. "Special Agent Victor Hendricksen,"

Both men jerked physically at name. The guilt they still felt at the fate of the federal agent had lessened in the face of what they had faced since, but it had never really gone away. Sam felt is brother tense and squeezed his shoulder, silently asking the older man to let him handle it. After a few moments, he felt Dean take a breath, the muscles under his hand loosening slightly. He watched, waiting, finally receiving a barely perceptible nod from Dean before dropping his hand and stepping around the shorter man.

"Look, Valerie. I'm sorry about your brother. But we didn't kill him." Sam searched for something, anything, to appease the frightened young woman before them. "I swear. We weren't even there when …" he wasn't sure what to say. The truth was, as much as it wasn't really heir fault, they still felt responsible.

They'd agreed that they wouldn't shoulder the blame for what Lillith had done, but they couldn't help but feel that the people who had died in that police station – Hendricksen, Nancy, the deputy, every single person they believed they had saved – that blood was on their hands. Hell, even the other agents and the sheriff that had been killed before they'd been able to convince Hendricksen that they weren't the bad guys were killed because of them.

Maybe they hadn't pulled the trigger, but semantics aside, they were still responsible. Lillith had been fucking with them and she'd used innocent lives to do it.

Sam took a deep breath and stepped closer, stopping in surprise as his brother's low voice rumbled from behind him. "You're right."

He turned slightly and frowned at Dean, but was unable to catch his brother's eyes.

Dean, on the other hand, held the gaze of the woman across the room. "You're right," he shrugged. "It was our fault. We should've…" his voice caught and he swallowed hard, his eyes falling to the ground momentarily before meeting hers again. "… I should have seen it coming and I didn't. And I'm sorry." His voice died to a whisper and Sam felt his breath catch in is throat, averting his eyes so as not to see the guilt bleeding out of his brother.

Valerie stood, her hands still grasping the chair, her head tilted as she studied Dean from under dark lashes. After a few moments, she seemed to reach a conclusion and raised her head, squaring her shoulders. "Thank you."

Dean simply nodded in response, letting go a breath and wincing as the pain from the stab wound made itself known.

"Sonofa…."

Sam grasped his brother's arm as the older man tilted forward, quickly steering him toward a small couch situated against the back wall. "Hey, easy. You okay?"

Dean nodded again, gingerly lowering himself to the couch and leaning back against the cushion. He closed his eyes, allowing Sam to poke and prod without complaint.

"You're bleeding."

They both looked back toward the young woman as she stepped hesitantly around the chair.

"That happens when you get stabbed."

She breathed out heavily through her nose, her chin quivering as she jutted it toward them. "I'm sorry about that. I can't… I can't believe I did that. I don't know why…"

"You thought I killed your brother," Dean stated calmly.

She licked her lips, her eyes darting around the room before landing back on Dean. "I guess. I saw you here, when you were with the tour group. I recognized you from the pictures in my brother's files. I guess I…" she shrugged. "I really don't remember. I can't really explain… it's all so vague... like a dream. I can't believe I'm capable of something like that."

Sam, who had stayed crouched next to Dean during her confession, slowly turned and stood, thrusting both hands into the pockets of his coat. "You aren't." At her confused look he continued. "At least not alone. That's the reason we're here."

Valerie shook her head, obviously not following his explanation. "What are you talking about?"

Sam glanced back at his brother, still leaning back against the leather of the couch. Dean raised his eyebrows and waved a hand at him, indicating he was on his own.

"There's an artifact here that's cursed," he stated bluntly.

Valerie blinked, dipping her head in disbelief. "Cursed."

Sam took a deep breath, steadfastly ignoring the low chuckle rumbling from behind him. "I know how it sounds, but I swear that's the truth." He stepped forward, pulling a sheaf of folded papers from the back pocket of his jeans. "I can show you."

Valerie stepped back slowly and he moved to the desk across the office, unfolding the papers and spreading them out on the mahogany top. He waited while Valerie looked through his research, leaning forward as the dates and facts told the story. He was banking on the fact that anyone involved with ancient relics would be aware of the legends and stories that went hand in hand with the histories of the people who created them. All he needed was a hint of doubt, just a small opportunity to get her to listen, and he knew he could convince her that the possibility was worth the risk.

"And you actually believe the skull is cursed?" She asked finally. She stepped back around the corner of the desk, crossing her arms across her chest and leaning slightly against the wood. "For real? Like the curse of King Tut's tomb?"

Sam nodded. "Yeah. Sort of. It's not the first time we've run across something like this."

She regarded both brothers for a moment. "You're serious."

Sam nodded again. "I know how it sounds…"

"It sounds looney tunes."

He took a deep breath and let it go slowly. "Yeah. It does. But trust me, we're not making this up." Seeing the woman's doubt, he tried a different tactic. "Look, you've been around all this stuff for a while, right? And you've studied up on all the legends and stories that go with these ancient civilizations and the artifacts that are dug up."

Valerie shrugged. "Of course, but that's all it is. Just stories, legends."

"Legends have to come from somewhere."

Valerie looked across the room, frowning at Dean's words. "But they aren't real. These legends are just stories from civilizations to explain phenomenon they weren't equipped to understand. They were used to condition people, to instill fear to keep them in line. And you want me to believe they're real? That an old skull dug up somewhere in South America really holds a curse. That it's somehow responsible for killing people?"

"Can you explain what you did?" Dean asked leaning forward, catching and holding her eyes. "You said it felt like a dream. You said you can't believe you were actually capable of stabbing someone. Killing someone. How do you explain that?"

Valerie stared at him a moment before hastily averting her eyes. "I can't."

"So, maybe, just maybe, there was something else at work here. Something that you can't explain, something that forced you to act out of character."

"But a curse?"

Sam could feel her wavering and pressed the advantage. "We're here to stop it, Valerie. That's what we do. Your brother realized that back in Colorado, that's why he lied about us being dead and then let us go. If we're wrong, the worst that happens is you lose an artifact and have to fill out a ton of paperwork. But if we're right…we saved lives."

Valerie turned her back, her head down, obviously weighing the implications of their claims. Sam exchanged a glance with his brother, who simply raised his brows and shook his head, not for a moment believing the woman would do anything other than call for security at her first chance. Sam couldn't help but agree.

They had run into some people who believed them over the course of the years, but those were usually victims with first hand knowledge of the supernatural. People who had seen the spirits or monsters – or like Valerie's brother, people who had been possessed and were forced to believe in something they wouldn't have ever considered otherwise. As the seconds ticked off, Sam's hope began to fall, knowing that whatever Valerie decided, they would still have to carry out the mission. They didn't want to hurt the woman, but they couldn't allow the skull to kill anyone else.

After a few tense minutes, Valerie slowly twisted back around and nodded. "Okay. I can live with that. What next?"

Sam sighed in relief, glancing at Dean who returned his look of amused surprise. "Well, our plan was to disengage the alarm, grab the skull and destroy the curse."

Valerie reached for her identification card, which hung from a blue cord around her neck. She stepped forward, reached out and handed the card to Sam. "That I.D. works as a passkey. It'll get you into the security office one floor down in the basement. You should be able to turn off the security for the East wing from there."

Sam accepted the card, nodding his thanks. He turned to see Dean struggling up from the couch. "Whoa, whoa, where do you think you're going?"

"With you."

Sam shook his head and took a few steps, easily pushing his brother back onto the couch. "No way, man. You need to stay put. I can handle this."

Dean leaned back, but glared his disapproval. "I'm not letting you go out there alone, Sam."

"And I'm not letting you bleed to death, Dean." He leaned back and held up the passkey. "I've got a way in. I'll be able to move faster, get in and out if I don't have to worry about you. I'll stop back and pick you up and then we can go after the skull. Okay?"

Dean opened his mouth as if to protest, but a throb in his abdomen cut off the words before he could speak. Gritting his teeth against the pain, he nodded tersely. "What about her?"

Sam looked back toward Valerie who had moved behind the desk and taken a seat in the high-backed leather chair. "She'll be fine as long as she stays here. We'll get her out when I come back." He grinned. "In the meantime, just stay out of knife range."

Dean watched the young woman with an expression of trepidation before turning back to his brother and nodding assent. "Be careful, Sammy."

Sam grinned, tilting his head toward Valerie who was doing her best to look like she wasn't paying attention to their conversation. "You, too."

TBC


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

Dean tightened his grip on the shotgun lying on the leather cushion next to his leg. His eyes were closed, but his attention was focused on the hallway, his ears alert for any sign of his brother's return. He knew there was no way Sam had had enough time to get to the security room, let alone figure out how to switch off the alarm, not even Sam was that fast despite those mile long legs of his, but he'd feel a hell of a lot better when his brother was back in his sight. He couldn't protect him when they were separated and Dean was beginning to think separating for any reason was a bad idea.

"Did he know?"

Valerie's soft voice carried across the silence of the room, startling him from his objective.

"Huh?"

"Victor. Did he know? What you really do?"

Dean turned his head against the back of the couch and pursed his lips.

"Oh," he responded. "Uh, yeah. He found out the hard way I guess. It's hard to argue the fact when there are a hundred black eyed SOB's coming full tilt trying to gank you."

"Excuse me?"

Dean grinned, rolling his head back and closing his eyes. "Demons."

"Demons."

He could tell from the tone of her voice she was more than a little skeptical. "Yeah. Of course getting possessed by one pretty much seals the deal in the 'believing in evil shit' category. We were able to save him… that time… but he didn't really have any doubts afterwards."

There was an awkward silence as the young woman tried to digest what she'd been told. Dean couldn't help but enjoy her discomfort. He'd ended up liking Hendricksen – despite the whole 'your daddy must've touched you in the wrong place' taunt. After all, the man thought he'd bagged a psycho, he was simply relishing the victory – something Dean understood all too well. And although he felt bad for what his sister had been through concerning his death, she'd still tried to kill him and that alone made her uneasiness right now a little more acceptable.

"I would've loved to have seen the look on Victor's face when he realized he was wrong."

He turned toward her again, a little surprised by the touch of amusement in her voice. "He took it pretty well, better than most."

"The demons? I don't doubt that. My brother was a pretty cool customer when it came to handling bizarre situations like that." She laughed fondly, a sound Dean couldn't help but find pleasant. "I meant I would've loved to see the look on his face when he found out he was wrong about you."

"Excuse me?" It was Dean's turn to be confused.

Valerie smiled and leaned back, the chair making a soft squeaking sound as she began to rock lightly. "My brother was a good cop. He made it his mission to find the worst scum imaginable and make them accountable for their crimes. And he had you at the top of his list."

"That's… disturbing."

"Only if you're one of the bad guys. He was convinced that you were a monster… some sort of psycho nut-job. And after you slipped through his fingers, he became obsessed with finding you and your brother and bringing you to justice. And when he did finally find you…" she held up a hand and waved it once. "… he let you go."

"He realized we weren't the bad guys."

Valerie nodded thoughtfully, her hands falling back to her lap and her eyes softening as they lost focus. "My brother didn't often admit to mistakes. But there was something about you and your brother. Something he wasn't quite sure about."

"Seemed pretty sure to me."

Valerie laughed. "That was how he played the game. Cool and collected. But the last time I talked to him, he said something that made me believe everything wasn't as black and white as he tried to make it seem."

"Do tell." Dean's interest was piqued.

"Normally when he was after someone, he'd say things like 'he wasn't going to stop until justice was served' or that 'the job didn't end until the bad guys were behind bars for good'. But he didn't say those things about you."

The hunter raised his eyebrows in question, prompting her to continue.

"He said he wasn't going to stop until he figured you out."

Dean pursed his lips and shrugged. "Just goes to show you should be careful what you wish for." If only it was that simple.

"I guess. But it led me to believe he was starting to question his own conclusions. He was starting to see shades of gray concerning you two."

"Is that why you're helping us?"

Valerie sighed. "Maybe. It wasn't often that Victor doubted himself." She suddenly leaned forward, placing her forearms on the desktop, her gaze finding the hunter's. "What really happened? How did he die?"

"It was a demon. A bitch named Lillith. She was after me and Sam. She tracked us down to that station, but we were already gone."

Valerie shrugged and shook her head. "So why? If she was after you and you weren't there, why did she kill them?"

He'd asked himself that questions a million times. "Because that's what evil does. That's what we fight every damn day."

"That sucks." She responded after a beat.

Dean nodded, chuffing a short breath through his nose. "Tell me about it." He dropped his eyes, finding the directness of her gaze suddenly unsettling. "I am sorry about your brother. I kind of got to know him a little… well once he took the handcuffs off and figured out we weren't the psycho nut jobs he'd thought. But, he seemed like a good guy. I'm just sorry… I'm… I'm just sorry I couldn't save him."

"From what you've told me you weren't even there, there was nothing you could've done."

"Maybe not." Dean shrugged. Maybe if he'd gone along with Ruby's plan… maybe if he'd thought it through better… who knows? The whole thing had been a total screw-up from the start. Falling for Bella's set-up, dropping their guard like that. It should never have happened. For that, he could blame nobody but himself.

"Is she dead? This Lillith?"

Dean shook off his dark thoughts at Valerie's question. "Not yet. We met up with her again, but…" _But she let her little pet tear me to shreds and then she sent me to Hell._ He coughed to clear his suddenly tight throat. "… we haven't given up. We'll find her. And when we do, we'll make sure she pays for everything she's done."

Valerie regarded him for a moment before slowly settling back into the leather chair. "I believe you will. Victor would've approved. I'm glad my brother was wrong about you."

"Your brother had good instincts."

"But he wasn't infallible."

"Maybe, maybe not." He clamped down on the memories that tried to claw their way into his consciousness. He wasn't ready to face that. He didn't think he'd ever be able to face that.

Valerie took a deep breath and leaned back, a small smile playing on her dark skin. "Victor was a good cop. But he wasn't the easiest man to deal with. He spent his life pursuing the worst mankind had to offer. It cost him a lot. His friends, his family… his happiness. I once asked him why he did it when it made him so miserable. Do you know what he told me? Why he kept doing a job that was sucking the life right out of him?"

Dean had a pretty good idea. "Because someone had to do it."

The young woman smiled sadly. "Exactly. Maybe you're not as different as you think."

Snsnsnsnsns

Sam slipped through the stairwell door, easing closed with a soft click behind him. Breathing slowly, he listened for any sign of company in the starkly lit hallway of the basement. Easing himself from the wall, he quickly made his way down the corridor, coming to a stop in front of the door marked 'Security'. Taking a deep breath, he passed Valerie's ID through the card reader and waited for the click of the lock before slowly pushing the door open just enough to glance inside the room.

Finding the room empty, he pushed the door open and hurried inside, holding his breath until the heavy metal door closed behind him.

So far, so good.

Stepping across to the security console, he quickly located the main alarm and shifted it to the off position. It would leave the museum vulnerable until someone noticed it was disengaged, but hopefully it would give them time to get through the building and get the skull before one of the guards returned from his rounds and noticed.

Besides, he had no idea which of the buttons controlled which of the wings and didn't want to stay separated from his brother any longer than necessary. Shutting down the entire system was a risk he was willing to take.

As soon as the LED light indicated the system had shut down, Sam eased back through the door, swiftly making his way to the stairwell, eager to get back to Dean, get the skull and get the hell out. Just as his hand touched the handle to the door, a loud voice boomed from behind him, freezing him in his tracks.

"Hey! You shouldn't be down here."

Sam swore silently before schooling his face into an innocent smile and turning slowly from the door.

"Um, yeah, I know… I was just, uh…" He glanced to his left, noting the plague marked 'Catalog Room' on the door across from the stairwell. "I was just filing some manifests for Ms. Cross." He pointed to the door, pitching his voice a little higher than normal, hoping like hell he came off sounding more like a harried intern than a seasoned hunter.

The security guard stepped toward him, his eyes scrutinizing the young man, moving from his face to the door and back to the ID hanging from his hand. After a moment, he smiled and Sam let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding.

"They got you working late, huh?"

"Yeah," Sam rolled his eyes. "Sometimes I wonder why I keep this job."

"I'm Dave," he held out a hand in greeting. "Don't think I've seen you around here before."

"Sam. I've only been here a few days," the hunter lied smoothly. "Interning with Ms. Cross for my Ancient civilizations course. Didn't expect it to take up so much time."

"I hear ya, kid." The guard waved a hand toward the door. "Go on. Hopefully they'll let you out of here before –" The guard's voiced trailed off as something behind Sam caught his attention. "What the hell…"

Turning, the young hunter watched as the security guard began to move cautiously, his right hand positioned on the handle of his holstered revolver. His eyes moved to follow the guard's and he swallowed hard as he caught sight of the familiar deep red blood as it slowly edged from around the corner.

"Shit." Sam swore under his breath, his own hand grasping the weapon tucked into the back of his jeans as he followed Dave down the hall. As they approached the corner intersection, both men held their breath, not knowing what to expect, but not believing they'd like what they found.

The blood surrounding the body was a vivid red against the polished concrete of the basement floor. The security guard came around the corner first, nearly going down as his shoes slid in the thick red liquid flowing at an alarming rate from what had been a colleague moments before.

Sam skidded to a stop, swallowing hard himself as he took in the carnage. The blood splashed across the walls in the far corridor was a violent contrast against the white walls, the scene looking like something out of a Hollywood slasher flick. The body of an older man dressed in an identical blue uniform to Sam's companion lay face up about four feet from the intersection of the two corridors, arms and legs spread eagle against the darkening floor. The center of his chest was caved, a huge hole showing muscle and bone testifying to the fact the man was dead.

"Oh, God," Dave took a step back, hand going to the wall for support. His eyes were glued to the body before him, his face pale, his body shaking with reaction.

Sam stepped forward, swallowing again against the rising bile as he carefully leaned over, assessing the guard's corpse. The blood was starting to congeal, the flow of the red liquid almost at a standstill just at the edge of the hallway. The body had been there for more than a few minutes, but with the extent of the damage and the vast amount of blood on the floor and walls, there was no way Sam could accurately determine how long ago the man had died. "Damn," he whispered as he got a good look at the body. "The heart's gone."

"What?"

Sam turned, carefully stepping around the dark pool of blood. "Whatever did this ripped his heart out."

Dave's gaze shifted from the body to Sam's face and back again. "What? Why? Who would do that?"

Sam shook his head, his eyes moving up and down the hallway. "I don't know, but whoever it was could still be in the building."

Dave took a shaking breath and nodded. "We need to call the cops."

Sam thought of his wounded brother upstairs with Valerie Cross, neither aware a killer was running loose inside the building. The young woman hadn't seemed dangerous, but she'd already been affected by the curse once and he was suddenly very uncomfortable having his wounded brother alone with her. He pulled out his phone, swearing when the device showed a lack of a signal.

"It won't work down here," Dave informed him. "All the cement in the walls as well as the steel in the vault blocks the signal."

Sam sighed heavily through his nose. "Okay, Dave, listen to me. My brother is upstairs with Ms. Cross. I need to --

His words were interrupted when the lights suddenly went out, plunging them into complete darkness. "Shit!" Sam quickly pulled a flashlight from his pocket, silently thanking his father for drilling preparedness into their heads at a young age. Shining the light on the floor in the general direction of the stairwell, Sam moved quickly past the stunned guard, forcing the man to follow as he moved down the hall. "Can you lock down the building from down here?"

"Not with the power out." Dave's voice sounded shaky, but the man was moving well, keeping up with Sam as he half-ran down the corridor. "The emergency lights should've come on right away. Something's wrong."

Sam huffed a laugh, but it held no humor. "You think?"

TBC


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five **

Dean shifted on the small couch, wincing as the wound in his abdomen protested the movement. He pulled the small silver flask from the inside pocket of his coat, twisted off the cap and downed a quick swallow, hoping the small swig of whiskey would help dull the increasing pain of the injury. He knew they were on a job, and he was pretty sure Sam would admonish him about drinking on the job, but his already high tolerance for alcohol had increased since coming back, and he figured if the whiskey could deaden the discomfort even a small amount, the trade-off of being able to move without pain would be worth it.

"Self medicating?"

Dean chuckled low in his throat, nodding slowly as he replaced the cap on the flask and tucked it back into his pocket. "It's been a really bad week."

Valerie sighed, the sound causing Dean to turn toward her. "I guess that's partially my fault." She looked up, expecting to see anger or condemnation, surprised when she saw Dean smile sadly.

"Lady, you're barely a blip on the radar."

Before she could reply, the lights on the table and desk suddenly died, pitching the room into darkness. The large window behind the desk allowed a faint glow from the parking lot outside to encroach upon the shadows, the quarter moon casting a sliver of silvery light across Valerie's startled face.

"The emergency lights should've kicked in," she whispered, her voice shaking as she stood.

Dean rose from the couch, the sawed-off clenched securely in his hands. "Get away from the window," he instructed. "Back there, into the corner."

She quickly followed his instructions as he moved to the door. Standing flat against the wall, he reached down to the knob and slowly twisted, easing the heavy door open just a crack before pushing it closed and throwing the lock.

"Hall lights are out, too."

"That's impossible," Valerie argued. "The emergency lights are designed to come on in case of a power outage. They're battery operated. There's no way for anyone to tamper with them unless…"

Dean leaned heavily against the wall, wincing as his stomach throbbed mercilessly at his movement. "Unless what?"

"Unless someone tampered with them all. Individually." She shook her head slowly. "But who would do something like that?"

Dean opened his mouth to answer, but clamped it closed as he heard heavy footsteps in the hallway. Moments later, he sighed in relief as he heard his brother's voice.

"Dean. It's me."

Dean turned the lock and stepped back further against the wall, allowing Sam and a shorter but stockier man wearing what was obviously a security uniform to step into the room.

"You okay?" Sam asked, shining his flashlight at his brother's face.

"I was until you blinded me," Dean retorted as he pushed the light away.

"Oh, sorry." Sam stepped further into the room, noticing the faint light from the window and flicking the flashlight off.

"Who's Ben Stiller here?" Dean asked. The guard's eyebrows rose as he grinned, but he didn't offer a protest at the _Night at the Museum_ reference. Dean's lips dipped on both sides as he grunted acceptance at the guard's sense of humor.

"This is Dave," Sam did the introductions. "Dave, this is my brother, Dean."

Dave held out a hand, withdrawing it slowly as he noticed the sawed-off shotgun in the young man's hands. "I'm going to guess you aren't an intern here."

Dean winked at him and made a clicking sound with his tongue. "Nothin' gets by you, huh, Dave?"

Sam rolled his eyes, hoping his brother didn't piss the guy off before they convinced him to get Valerie out of the building.

"What exactly is going on here?"

"No time to explain, Dave," Dean answered quickly, pushing himself off the wall and walking back toward the couch. "I this…" he waved a hand indicating the darkness around them. …'tour doing?"

Sam shook his head. "Nope. This is a whole 'nother can of worms."

"Great." Dean sighed. "I suppose we don't have to worry about…" he glanced at the security guard before returning his attention to his brother. ".., the you know what?"

Sam nodded, assuming his brother was referring to the buildings alarm system. "Nope. But I think we have bigger problems. We found one of the other guards downstairs. His chest had been ripped open." He lowered his voice and took a step closer to his brother. "Dean, his heart was ripped out of his chest."

"Son of a bitch."

"Yeah." Sam waited a moment while his brother paced to the couch and back. He couldn't help but notice the stiff way Dean held himself, as if trying to move without actually moving too much. He knew he should make Dean leave with Dave and Valerie, but was pretty sure of the answer he would get if he offered the suggestion. On the other hand, even wounded, Dean was one of the best hunter's Sam had ever known. If there was someone in the building who'd already been touched by the curse, Sam was pretty sure he'd need his brother by his side, 100 percent or not. "So what do you want to do?"

Dean turned his eyes to Valerie, who had moved back into the light from the window. "We stick with the plan. Get the skull, end the curse."

Sam nodded. "What about them?" He kept his voice pitched low, trying not to scare the young woman across the room anymore than she already was.

Dean paused a moment, then nodded once as if coming to a decision and spoke loudly, addressing the security guard. "Dave, dude, think we can trust you to get Ms. Cross out of the building?"

Sam touched his arm, leaning in close. "You think that's a good idea? Either one of them could be under the curse. That guard didn't yank his own heart out."

Dean nodded once. "You got a better idea, I'm listening." He looked expectantly at his brother who simply shook his head with a shrug. "Then I say we move them out, burrito the skull and hope it's enough to cut its mojo."

Sam considered his brother's words for a moment before nodding his capitulation. "What about it, Dave? Can you find your way out?"

Dave looked from Dean to Sam, confusion apparent on his face. "Uh, yeah, but… what are you two going to do?"

Dean grinned, an expression that for some reason scared the hell out of Sam. "We're gonna do a little head bangin'."

Snsnsnsnsnsns

It was actually Valerie who convinced Dave that the 'intern' and his brother were capable of handling the situation and even managed to persuade him into not calling the police until they two hunters gave the okay. They'd instructed Dave to take the same route as they had on arrival and waited until the two museum employees had disappeared down the long hallway before pulling the weapons from the duffle they had dropped inside the office.

'Be prepared' was something John Winchester had drilled into his sons as far back as they could remember. Whether it was a hunt, a personal confrontation or simply a night out with a girl, they had always gotten the speech. Always plan for anything – don't let yourself be taken by surprise.

When they were kids, Sam had always argued it was over-kill, but Dean couldn't help but remember the advice had saved their asses on more than one occasion.

Like that hunt for the werewolf when Dean was 16 and they'd found out that lycans sometimes traveled in pairs.

Like the time he'd been at a bar hustling pool and a waitress by the name of Darlene with big blonde hair and even bigger 'assets' had hustled him outside the backdoor and into the back of her bartender boyfriend's pick-up.

And, like now.

They'd planned on a simple snatch and grab concerning the skull: get in, grab the cursed object and get out, Sam having finally convinced him that destroying the thing on site would take longer than they would have. Whether it was truly because the younger man was concerned about the security in the museum or whether his actual concern was due to last night's tango in the parking lot, Dean decided he really didn't want to know. Sam had assured him Bobby had found a protection spell that would temporarily protect them from the skull's curse – at least long enough to make an escape and break the curse properly.

Digging into the duffle bag now, Dean pulled a small, burlap cloth from the depths, keeping the material carefully wrapped so as not to chance marring the sigils carefully drawn onto the rough surface. The burlap had been soaked in holy water, treated with a number of herbs he couldn't hope to remember, then dried before the sigils had been etched on with charcoal. Bobby had assured them that once the material was wrapped around the skull, the effects of the curse would be temporarily muted long enough for them to get someplace private where the ritual to actually destroy the curse altogether could be performed.

Of course, Dean was still in favor of just smashing the damn thing to bits and performing a simple salt and burn. Although Bobby had told them it would probably be sufficient to destroy the skull, there was no guarantee it would destroy the actual curse. Only the proper ritual would give them a 100% guarantee and there was no sense in chancing it if they had the time and opportunity to do the job right.

Standing from his crouch pulled at the stitches in his abdomen and he couldn't stifle the low groan that rumbled from his throat. The wound was starting to ache, the pain killers he'd taken earlier beginning to wear off and he was more than ready to get this hunt over and done with so that he could find a nice soft bed and fall asleep for a week.

"Hey," Sam's soft voice cut through the silence and Dean could feel his brother's gaze on him even through the darkness. "You okay to do this?"

Dean nodded and pushed himself up fully, releasing a held breath slowly. "No," he said honestly. "This hurts like a bitch. Remind me to let you go on the food run next time."

Sam chuckled, picking up the duffle and sliding the handles over his shoulder. "I would've gone this time, but I wasn't the one being an annoying jerk acting like a bored six year old."

"No, you were the one being an whiny little bitch jonesing for onion rings." Dean smiled as Sam glared at him with his patented bitchface. "But, it's okay, Sammy. My baby can only take so much of that emo-music you listen to when you drive and I think she's had enough for a while."

"You kidding? The damn car purred like a kitten whenever I played anything that wasn't considered mullet rock."

Dean glared at his brother through the dimness of the office, the pain in his stomach fading to a dull ache. "Bite your tongue, heathen. My girl's never gonna respond to any of that touchy-feely crap you force onto her. She's a classic, dude. Always will be."

"Right," Sam shook his head. "Maybe we should discuss the car's music preferences later, Dean. Like when we don't have an ancient Aztec curse to take care of."

"As long as you understand the old girl is never gonna fall under your boy-band spell, dude."

Sam huffed a laugh through his nose. "Maybe not," he teased. "But you should've heard her purr to Yanni."

Dean glared, tucking the tarp under one arm and hefting the shotgun with the other. "Yanni," he muttered under his breath as he followed his brother out into the darkened hallway. "Probably has Enya on that damn iPod, too."

Sam grinned, thankful that the darkness hid his smile from his brother. Shining the flashlight down the hallway, he focused on the job at hand, leading the way toward the exhibit room, his brother's quiet breath's in time with his own, setting a comforting rhythm against the cadence of their soft footfalls.

Halfway down the second corridor, a shrill scream pierced the air causing both men to jump, aiming their weapons into the darkness as the shriek echoed off the narrow walls. In the dim light, Sam turned to see his brother's eyes wide,.

"Damnit," Dean whispered as he took off, passing Sam as the younger man bolted to catch up. They soon heard the sounds of a scuffle, the grunts and groans directing them around another corner, Sam's bobbing flashlight alighting an alarming scene.

Dave and Valerie were on the floor, both reaching for an ornate dagger that spun along the waxed flooring of the hallway a few yards from where they struggled. Another flashlight lay on the floor against the nearby wall, casting an eerie glow on the two combatants, their larger than life shadows in an almost macabre dance behind them. Dave suddenly pushed the smaller woman forcefully away from himself, sending her sliding toward the Winchesters as he shimmied toward the far side of the corridor and the gleaming blade.

Dean grunted as Valerie collided with his legs, nearly toppling him as her body slid into him at surprising speed. He leaned over, more to keep his own balance than to aid the young woman, placing a hand on her back to stop her momentum.

Sam, only a few steps behind his brother, easily dodged the human roadblock, sidestepping his brother and easily vaulting the body of the young woman.

"Sammy, the knife!" Dean called in warning as the beam of the flashlight glinted off the blade, just as the security guard closed his hand around the hilt.

"I got it!" Sam called over his shoulder, his stride never faltering as he sped toward Dave's exposed back. "Get her out of here. Get the skull!" He dove forward, driving the rising man back into the unforgiving hardness of the cement floor, knocking the wind from them both.

Dean tucked the shotgun into his jacket and grabbed the abandoned flashlight with one hand, making sure the tarp was still secured under his arm. Quickly, he seized Valerie's arm, hauling the dazed woman to her feet, and pulled her back along the corridor, trusting his brother to handle the threat of the security guard.

As soon as Sam was sure his brother and Valerie were clear, Sam pushed himself off the security guard, and climbed quickly to his feet, coming to a defensive stance a few feet from the prone man. Dave rose with more race than Sam had given him credit for, turning toward the younger man, gleaming blade held out threateningly before him.

"Stay back," he warned in a breathless voice, his eyes squinting against the harsh glare of the flashlight Sam had aimed directly at his face.

"Just take it easy, Dave." Sam pitched his voice low and soft, trying not to provoke the armed man any more than necessary. "You don't really want to do this. It's not your fault." He didn't really expect to be able to talk the cursed man down, only delay him long enough for Dean to get to the skull and wrap it in the tarp, hopefully severing the connection and loosening the hold it obviously had on the security guard.

"Damn right it isn't my fault," Dave nodded in agreement. "That bitch is nuts!"

Sam's eyes widened and he straightened somewhat from his crouch. "What?"

"Yeah!" Dave nodded, his voice rising in his distress. "She attacked me! Pulled this knife out of her purse and tried to gut me with it." The shorter security guard held up his other hand, palm out, in an obvious gesture of supplication. "I swear man, that woman is crazy. I don't know what her problem is but she tried to kill me!"

Sam studied the man for a moment, all instincts telling him that Dave was lying, that it was nothing more than the curse at work, but as he watched Dave's eyes, he could find nothing but sincerity in their depths.

He raised himself up fully, allowing the flashlight to dip, sending the security guard's face into shadow. "Valerie attacked you?"

Dave nodded emphatically, a sigh of relief puffing from his lips. "Yes, I swear. I thought I was supposed to help her, I never expected…" he shrugged, dropping his hand and holding the knife out to Sam, hilt first. "I'm sorry, I never thought…"

"It's okay," Sam whispered. He stepped forward warily, snatching the knife from Dave's outstretched hand. His sense of relief was short lived as concern for his brother wormed its way into the forefront of his mind. "I need to get to the exhibition room," he said quickly. He leaned down and grabbed the discarded weapons bag, swinging it onto his shoulder as he turned back down the hallway. He started to move, coming to an abrupt stop when he realized he had no idea where he was. Their mad dash down the hallway, coupled with the darkness of the power outage had him completely turned around, the map in his head lost as he tried to determine just where he was in the maze of hallways.

"This way," Dave hitched a thumb over his shoulder and turned, indicating with his head that Sam should follow.

Sam took a deep breath and nodded once, forcing the trepidation for Dean into the back of his mind, "Let's go."

TBC


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six**

As soon s they rounded the second corner, Dean swore, knowing he was hopelessly lost. Sam had been the one who had poured over the layout of the museum, committing the design of the building's interior to memory. Contrary to Sam's belief, Dean had taken a glance at the blueprints, his analytical mind quickly assimilating the organization of corridors and connecting display rooms, but was currently having a hard time recalling exactly which direction they needed to be going. Whether that was because of the darkness or the escalating ache in his stomach he wasn't sure, but he was pretty confident he wasn't going to be able to find the skull on his own.

Slowing to a halt, he propped himself up against the nearby wall and leaned forward slightly, trying to take some of the pull off the wound in his abdomen. His heart was racing from their mad dash and he closed his eyes against the dancing spots that were beginning to make him slightly nauseous. He felt more than saw Valerie press up beside him, her breath still coming in loud gasps.

He could tell the young woman was scared – hell who wouldn't be. She hadn't signed on for this any more than her brother had. Dean swallowed hard at the thought of the dedicated FBI agent who had died, a casualty of a war he never had a chance to understand.

"Valerie," he breathed heavily, wincing as he forced himself upright. "This is your turf. Which way?"

He turned slightly, noting that the young woman's eyes were tightly closed, her nostrils flaring as she breathed in and out rapidly, her face tense as she obviously tried to reign in her fear.

"Valerie?"

The young woman opened her eyes, her dark gaze quickly finding Dean's in the dim light. Taking a deep breath, she licked her lips, nodding her head in an abbreviated acknowledgement.

"You okay?" Dean knew it was a stupid question, but couldn't help but ask it anyway. Sometime it wasn't the words themselves that kept a person grounded, it was simply knowing that someone cared enough to ask them.

Valerie took a long shaky breath, pursing her lips as she released it. She nodded again, this time with more conviction. She pushed away from the wall and turned toward the darkness blanketing the corridor. "The skull is this way." Without another word, she slowly began walking down the hall, leaving Dean little choice but to follow.

Snsnsnsnsnsnsnsnss

A soft glow emanated from a large opening at the far end of the hallway. Dean had followed Valerie, her direction never faltering as she led the way through the dark passageways to the exhibition room that housed the Skull of Huitzilpochtli. He kept an ear out for his brother, hoping that Sam hadn't run into too much trouble taking care of the guard. He knew Sam was more than capable of handling the situation – probably a little more capable than Dean himself at the moment thanks to his little souvenir from his first altercation with Valerie Cross – but the worry for his brother had never completely abated. Even after everything they'd been through, he still held on to that small yet constant edge of worry for his brother. Sometimes, it was the only piece of himself he could recognize anymore.

The arched entrance spilled dim light from the display that, despite the darkness throughout the rest of the museum seemed to burn bright, pulsing with a power that made the hairs on the back of Dean's neck stand up. He flicked the flashlight off and tucked it into the pocket of his coat, pulling the shotgun up as he surveyed the large room.

The light originated from behind the scale pyramid, casting an almost eerie glow into the room and setting the far walls into a collage of misshapen shadows thrown by the collection of ancient artifacts within their boundaries. The shadows weaved together, coalescing into silhouettes that towered ominously across the walls and ceilings of the space.

"This can't be good." Dean could think of no reason for the glow emanating up from the base of the pyramid. Even if the room was on a separate circuit, the fact that it was the only one with power in the entire building was disconcerting in itself despite the added concern of the supernatural curse that was housed in the innocuous looking skull perched at the top of the pyramid.

Determining that they were indeed alone, Dean lowered the shotgun, pulled the blessed tarp from under his arm and strode to the base of the pyramid. The sooner he got the damn thing under wraps, the sooner he could be sure that Sam would be okay. He lifted a foot onto the first step of the pyramid when a soft voice behind him stopped him in his tracks.

"You cannot be allowed to interfere."

Instincts honed over years of practice took over as he threw himself to the side, the large blade that had nearly pierced his skull crashing harmlessly against the granite of the pyramid steps. Grunting as his body shook from the impact with the hard marble floor, he automatically rolled away from the threat, coming to a crouched halt a few feet from his previous position. He looked up to see Valerie turn to him, her hand wrapped around a long, wooden handle topped with a very sharp looking, axe-like blade. Her face was void of emotion, her eyes unblinking as she took a slow step toward him.

"Guess I should've seen that one coming," he muttered to himself. He'd been so wrapped up in the guilt of what he'd allowed to happen to Hendricksen, he'd let himself forget that it was Valerie who had been under the spell of the curse in the first place.

He forced himself to his feet, wincing as he felt the warm flow of blood seep from the obviously re-opened stab wound. Taking a step backward, he placed a hand over the wound, holding the other before him as he attempted to get through to the young woman.

"Valerie," he kept his voice low and non-threatening. "You really don't want to do this. This is the skull. It's forcing you to act against your own instincts. You know this."

Valerie took another step forward, gripping the weapon with both hands and raising it to shoulder hieight.

"Seriously, honey, I can help you. Just let me take care of the skull and this will all seem like nothing more than a bad dream."

Valerie hesitated and Dean held his breath, hoping that maybe he had managed to get through. Those hopes were quickly dashed as Valerie lunged forward, swinging the axe down toward the hunter. Dean dove backwards, slamming hard against the base of another display, quickly turning and scooting around it, using it as a barrier between himself and the deadly looking weapon.

Footsteps echoed in the corridor and Dean sighed in relief as Sam and Dave barreled into the room, both stopping suddenly at the sight of the young woman brandishing the weapon.

"Sammy!" Dean called. "Get the tarp!"

The canvas was lying against the base of the pyramid where it had fallen when Dean had dodged the first assault. Slowly he pushed off the display, taking slow, controlled steps backwards, thankful that Valerie seemed to remain focused on him, following as Sam carefully made his way across the room to the pyramid. He didn't know how long he'd be able to keep her attention before the skull sensed the new threat and sent her after Sam. As soon as he saw her eyes flicker and her body begin to turn back toward the pyramid, he lunged forward, wrapping both hands around the wooden handle of the axe and forcing it from her grip. With a grunt, he heaved the weapon across the room and tackled the woman, aware of his brother's progress up the steep side of the pyramid.

Valerie fought like a woman possessed, and Dean couldn't help but think that wasn't so far off the mark. Weakened by an inadvertent knee to his stomach, Dean all but fell on top of her, using his own weight to subdue the much smaller woman, who kicked and scratched, screaming what he could only assume were ancient obscenities in an unfamiliar language at the top of her lungs.

Dean was about to join the screams, urging his brother to hurry the hell up when Valerie's screams ceased abruptly, her body suddenly going limp beneath him. Pushing himself off her with a low moan, Dean was grateful for the reprieve. He slowly rolled onto his back, his face scrunched in pain as his hand went to his wounded stomach, pressing against the new flow of blood.

Curses really sucked out loud.

snsnsnsnsnsnsn

"Dean?"

He opened his eyes, not really sure when he'd closed them, to see Sam's concerned face hovering only inches away.

"Dude, personal space."

Sam sat back, but only slightly. Slowly he turned his head, taking in his surroundings, surprised to find himself flat on his back underneath a large golden jaguar perched on top of a very textured piece of gray stone. He lay still as he let his eyes focus, watching as Dave helped a very shaky Valerie upright and leading her to the base of the steps of the pyramid a few yards away.

"Dean?"

At Sam's voice, he turned back to his brother, noting the almost amused expression the younger man wore on his face. He blinked slowly, giving Sam a glare. "You just gonna sit there and grin or are you gonna help me up, bitch?"

Sam chuckled and held out a hand, carefully pulling the older man to a seated position. He couldn't stop a slight groan as the wound in his stomach protested the movement, his hand automatically dropping to the injury only to find a warm wetness seeping through his shirt.

"Yeah," Sam took a deep breath, nodding his head toward the seeping stab wound. "You managed to pull a few stitches. Doesn't look too bad, though. I think you'll live."

Dean snorted a laugh and nodded in return. "Thank you, Dr. House." He looked around, quickly spotting the tricked out tarp rolled around what he assumed was the Aztec skull sitting innocuously a few inches from Sam's feet. "It worked?"

Sam turned briefly toward the tarp and shrugged. "Looks like. As soon as I dropped the cloth over the skull, Valerie just… stopped." Sam looked at his brother, assessing the older hunter's condition. "Think you can get move?"

"If it'll get me out of this damn museum, Sammy, I can dance."

Snsnsnsnsnsnsns

They dropped the skull into a cooler in the trunk of the Impala that they had drawn similar symbols inside and out. It would act as a temporary 'curse box' until they could get the skull back to South Dakota. Bobby hadn't been real sure how long the protection was going to last, but he figured it would long enough.

Dean winced as he stretched against the headboard of the motel bed, watching as Sam packed up the rest of the gear, taking another quick look in the bathroom to make sure they left nothing behind. A light rap on the door sounded inside the small room, stopping all activity as the brothers exchanged a look of surprise. Dean shrugged, placed a hand on his Desert Eagle and pulled it close to the side of his leg, indicating for Sam to check the door. With a nod, the younger hunter crossed the room and opened the door cautiously.

Dean watched as his brother's shoulders relaxed, in turn relaxing his own grip on the weapon, knowing that Sam's reaction would indicate whether their visitor was friend or foe. He slid the gun under the disheveled blankets atop the bed as Sam stepped back, opening the door fully and allowing Valerie Cross to enter the room.

"I wasn't sure I would be able to catch you before you left," she said as she stepped past Sam and into the room. Her eyes quickly surveyed the small room, coming to rest on Dean who had remained seated on the bed. "I just wanted to make sure that you were okay and…" she shrugged, obviously still slightly shook up from all that had happened. "I wanted to tell you again how sorry I am about," she waved a hand toward Dean. "Well, about everything."

Sam quietly closed the door, leaning up against it, allowing his brother to take the lead.

"Nothing to apologize for," the seated man replied, a slight grin playing on his face. "None of this was your fault."

Valerie nodded, her eyes dropping to the floor. "I know. Still, I am sorry."

Dean simply nodded. He glanced at Sam before clearing his throat and returning his eyes to the young woman before them. "About your brother…"

Valerie smiled, her eyes warm yet sad. "I know what happened to Victor wasn't your fault. After everything I've seen, I know you two did everything you could to save him. There was no way you could have known what was going to happen after you left."

The brother's exchanged a look, both remembering what Hendricksen's spirit revealed to Dean in Bobby's kitchen a few weeks back. While true, they had had no idea Lilith would show up and kill everyone they had just worked so hard to save, Dean couldn't help but believe they should have been able to do something. Hendricksen, Nancy, the deputy… none of them should've had to pay such a high price. None of them should've been sacrificed in this damn war.

After a few minutes of awkward silence, Sam cleared his throat, gaining the grateful attention of the other two people in the room. "Our friend is pretty sure he can break the skull's curse without actually destroying it. We should be able to get it back to you in a few days."

Valerie nodded. "I should be able to come up with some kind of story about the artifact being removed for cleaning or something. Once we get it back, nobody will be the wiser." She took a step back toward the door, and Sam pulled it open for her. "Thank you," she said, briefly glancing back at Dean before stepping through the open doorway and back outside.

Sam waited until she was in her car and pulling away from the motel before closing the door and stepping back to the foot of the other bed. He threw the rest of his clothes into his duffle, before straightening and turning to his brother. "You ready?"

Dean, his eyes focused somewhere Sam knew he'd never be able to see, slowly nodded. "You think she'd still forgive us if she knew her brother was tortured by Lillith before he died?"

Sam sighed, knowing the death of the people back in Colorado was something his brother was never going to forgive himself for. Seeing Hendricksen again had hit Dean hard – had hit them both hard – and Sam wasn't really sure how to answer.

"I don't know, Dean. All I know is we did the best we could."

"But is that enough?"

"It has to be."

The End

_Thanks for sticking with me to the end! I'd love to hear what you thought (good, bad or otherwise!) Only 3 more days to go until season 4 resumes! Thank goodness! I thought it would never come! See ya'll soon!! -- Sue_


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